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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26932420">Coda</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mertiya/pseuds/AdmirableMonster'>AdmirableMonster (Mertiya)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Afterlife, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canonical Character Death, Ficlet, M/M, Suicide, goddammit akira, tokens of affection</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 02:55:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>525</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26932420</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mertiya/pseuds/AdmirableMonster</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Maedhros dies in fire and wakes after.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Fingon | Findekáno/Maedhros | Maitimo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>68</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Coda</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26931766">Cessation in Crimson</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/akirakurosawa/pseuds/akirakurosawa">akirakurosawa</a>.
        </li>

    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this is your fault, you know who you are<br/>aaaaaaaaaaa</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>            Maedhros Fëanorion dies.</p><p>            He dies in flame, in fire, in pain.  It is excruciating, and he deserves every moment of the pain.  He dies without hope, without love, without salvation, with only the last scream of his little brother ringing in his ears, <em>Nelyo—Nelyo—don’t—</em>but he failed Káno too.  Káno, only the very end of a very long list of failures.  The first of which was the breaking of the Union and the blue and silver banner trodden in the mud before him.</p><p>            Maedhros Fëanorion shut his eyes against the pain as the flames consume him.</p><p>            When he next opens them, all is dim and dark.  The pain is muted.  He looks down at himself; he is covered in shadows, mottled, as if his <em>hröa</em> is half there and half not—but, no—not his <em>hröa</em>.  It is his <em>fëa</em> that is shadowed and pockmarked, with fire playing across it in places.  Maedhros shudders and wraps his not-quite-real arms around himself.  Is this the Void?  He wants only to sleep, but he knows he does not deserve it.  He deserves nothing but pain and suffering and torment, until the Door of Night cracks and the world itself is no more.</p><p>            And still, though he knows he deserves it, the tears still flow.  It has been so long since he cried.  Tears unnumbered were shed, but he shed none of them, for he was cold and numb inside.  No tears spilled by one dead.  And yet now he is crying.</p><p>            He presses the stump of his hand into his eyes and feels the soothing silk against his cheek he thought he would not.  He does not deserve the comfort of it, but though the rest of him is shadowed and covered in phantom flames, the golden ribbons yet wrapped around his wrist shine with a soft, soothing light.  Maedhros cannot help but be comforted.</p><p>            “Thou art still wearing my ribbons.”</p><p>            Maedhros’s <em>fëa</em> trembles at the sound of that voice.  It cannot be—it <em>cannot</em> be—he would never wait—he would never—not after everything Maedhros has done.  Besides, this is the Void; this must be the Void, must it not?  “I would never take them off,” he croaks hoarsely, anyway, because he cannot help himself.</p><p>            “Oh, beloved.  So much so that they have become a part of thee?”  Maedhros looks up without hope and meets those familiar dark eyes.  The ribbons of gold in Finno’s own hair shine with the same soft, comforting light as the ribbons about Maedhros’s wrist.</p><p>            “How…”</p><p>            “Welcome to the Halls of Mandos, Russo.”  When Finno stretches out his fingers and his <em>fëa</em> brushes Maedhros’s, Maedhros feels a thrill run through him, like a chord plucked and reverberating in a way that is <em>achingly</em> familiar.  And it does not <em>matter</em> that he does not deserve it, because he cannot stop the desperate longing—he has never been able to stop it—and he is not strong enough to resist falling into Finno’s arms, in a way that sends kaleidoscopes of color through the strange dim darkness of this place.</p><p>            “I forgive thee,” Finno whispers.</p><p>            “I love thee,” Maedhros sobs.</p>
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